


The Way You Look Tonight

by gimmefire



Category: Green Day
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Transvestite, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-06
Updated: 2005-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And I can't explain, but there's something about the way you look tonight...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You Look Tonight

"God. I need to get laid."

Tré looked up from his remaining three shots to his bandmate. "Amen to that, man." he sighed wearily.

"No, I mean it, Tré," Mike said, chin sinking down to meet his crossed arms on the bar. "If it wasn't so fucking E! News Special, I'd go out and get me prostitute."

Tré raised his eyebrows, saying nothing.

"Guess I'm just sick of my own goddamn hand," the bassist murmured.

Tré leaned on his hand, tracing his fingers through the rings of beer on the bar, thinking. "You know," he said eventually, voice low and confidential as he leaned closer to Mike. "I could arrange for someone to come over and, y'know...take care of you."

Mike laughed a little, knocking back a shot before answering. "No offence, man, but I don't exactly trust your connections in that area."

"Nonono! It'd be totally legit, honest!" Tré protested.

Mike gave him a withering look. "Right."

"Seriously!" Tré exclaimed. "No money involved. You'd be doing each other a service, that's all."

"Well, shit, you're such a romantic," Mike muttered, looking away. "Service..."

"I thought you said you wanted to get laid?" Tré pointed out. "That doesn‘t usually mean you want romance."

There was a pause.

"Touché." Mike conceded.

Tré swivelled around on his stool, facing Mike directly and placing his hands on his thighs. "Alright!" he said decisively, grinning. "First, I need to know how freaky you're willing to get, Mikey boy."

"Freaky?!" Mike's eyebrows nearly disappeared off his forehead before a telling blush blossomed on his cheeks. "God, do you have to?"

Tré nodded, grin becoming positively shit-eating. "Yuh huh. I need _details_. I mean, are you into necrophilia? Coprophilia? Zoophilia?"

Mike looked mortified, hissing in protest. Tré held up his hands.

"Purely for research, man, honestly. See, I gotta pass all this shit on, so's they don't get _too_ freaky for you." he smirked slyly. "Or...so's they can get _more_ freaky for you."

By now, Mike was sorta regretting ever starting this conversation. Especially with, of all people, Tré Cool. Why in the holy hell did he decide to open up to pervmaster Tré about this? Why not Billie, or Jason, or anyone who wouldn't bring up the nasty idea of animal fucking. Billie would treat his problem with respect, and really try to find a sensible solution to it.

He wouldn't conjure up images of...goats and horses and...ugh...

But no. For once, he hadn't thought before opening his mouth. And now he was paying the price.

Blush still colouring his cheeks, Mike shook his head violently.

"No, no animals or dead people or shit or piss," he paused and huffed. "Look, as long as it isn't gross and doesn't involve the wrong body fluids, I'm ok with it. Anything but those things."

The smile dropped from Tré's face, and he dipped his head, looking up at Mike, for the first time actually looking serious about the whole thing.

"Anything?" he asked. "Absolutely anything except those things?"

Mike looked back at him with wary unease. What exactly would he be letting himself in for if he said yes? What could Tré cook up for him? And, probably most importantly, were there any freaky sexual practices that he wasn't aware of and thus couldn't cross off the list?

Tré spoke again. "If you don't mean anything, it's gonna affect who I pick for you," he leaned back, picking up another shot and swirling it gently around in the glass. He spoke in a sing-song voice. "And I don't think you'll have as much fu-un..."

Mike continued to teeter on the edge of decision, knocking back his second shot as his mind raced through all of the weird kinks he knew of. Then Tré quietly recited a little rhyme as he traced a finger around the rim of his shot glass. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me..."

Mike looked at him with mild incredulity, watching his drummer look down into his miniature glass, a ghost of that irrepressible Tré-smile on his face.

Then he decided.

He swallowed.

"Well...gotta try everything once, haven't you?"

Tré looked up sharply, a second passing before the smile bloomed on his face. "Really?" he asked, more than a touch of amusement in his tone.

"Yeah."

"Absolutely anything but those things you mentioned before?"

"Fuck, Tré, yes!" Mike exclaimed. "You spent the last ten minutes trying to talk me into it, and now you won't take yes for an answer!"

"Ok, ok, just wanted to be sure. Shake on it, you lucky boy."

Despite the dubiousness of the ‘lucky boy' comment, Mike clasped Tré's hand, both of them drinking their last shot with their free hands.

If it wasn't so Dr. Pepper, Mike would wonder what's the worst that could happen...

\------------------------------------

Later that night, almost the minute he arrived home, Tré was already on the phone making the call to save Mike's mojo.

He reclined on his couch, one hand behind his head, the other holding the receiver to his ear. Goddamn, was this going to be awesome. He had a vague hope that there would somehow be cameras wherever Mike and his new friend ended up...but he doubted it. Still, a guy could dream.

Four rings later, and someone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, babe." Tré greeted, voice silky smooth. "I found you a boy toy..."

\------------------------------------

_A mere two nights later..._

"Ok, I got a few ground rules to go through with you first."

Mike looked up from picking nervously at his nails to his designated driver. "Ground rules?" he echoed worriedly.

Tré nodded, for a change looking pretty serious. He raised a hand and began counting off. "One - don't speak until you're spoken to. Two - Don't make eye contact until you're told to. Three - Don't bitch and moan, she won't like it. Four, and probably most important - always, always refer to her as ‘Mistress' and nothing else."

Mike looked at him, mind slowly computing. Then his eyes widened and he hissed in outrage.  
"You got me a _dominatrix_?!"

"Kinda," Tré replied coyly.

The bassist contemplated asking what Tré meant by ‘kinda', but decided it was probably better he didn't know. He glared at him in minor irritation for a few moments, before sitting back in his car seat, apprehensively eyeing the small motel before them. He shrunk down a little, eyes flicking around for any sign of paparazzi, extremely worried that they were too exposed here. A voice inside him, ever the pessimist, whined that it was going to be lousy and trying to convince him to not bother and run while he still can.

Tré's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "You got two minutes to get yourself together before your appointment. You'll get an hour. And remember, the second you're inside that door," he pointed to the barely illuminated door directly in front of them. "You're _owned_."

Mike swallowed, shivering a little at the husky growl Tré's voice had become. It was a combination of that and what he actually said that galvanized him into getting out of the car then and there.

Get it over with.

He slid out of his seat and shuffled towards the motel, pausing underneath the battered canopy and looking back towards Tré. The drummer peered out at him, face illuminated by the streetlight they'd parked beside. He smiled mischievously - and knowingly - back at Mike, before flashing a quick thumbs up and starting the car. Mike watched him pull away before turning back to face the door.

_For fuck's sake._

_Hate you, Tré._

Then he raised a hand, reminding himself of his instructions, and tried the handle gingerly. Finding the door unlocked, he took an apprehensive breath and stepped inside, clicking the door shut behind him.

\-----------------------------------

Tré drove along, grinning like an imbecile to himself. He always had the best ideas. Always.

Mike was bound to be all negative at first, pessimist that he was. But he'd come round, for definite. Give him about half an hour, he'd be lapping at some leather booted feet with submissive gusto. Yup. He'd bet his crop on it. After all, he'd know. Heh.

So by the time the smug drummer returned in an hour, Mike would be bowing before him in thanks, hands and knees, begging to be used as a footstool and claiming himself not worthy to be...well, maybe not that far, but he'd _definitely_ be pleasantly surprised. And, conveniently, Tré had also not told the dominatrix the identity of the new customer/boy toy. More fun that way, he reasoned.

Right now, he guessed, Mike would be worrying about the whole ‘dominatrix' thing, and the fact he'd said he wanted to get laid, not _laid into_. But the dominatrix tag wasn't entirely accurate. Hooker, slut, groupie, dominatrix, transvestite, these could all be used with varying degrees of accuracy.

Fuck, come to think of it, Tré had never actually _asked_ Billie what he considered himself to be.  
Too busy screaming and begging for more, or harder, or mercy, or something.

Giggling a little at the thought and the positively delish memory, Tré pulled into a gas station and bought a few consumable supplies before taking the car to the quiet parking lot. Slotting in his Journey/Heart/Foreigner/Nazareth mixtape, he reclined in his seat, cracked open a soda, and sang along at the top of his lungs.

_Mike's gonna_ love _me._

\-----------------------------------------

Billie was in the bathroom when he heard the door click shut, and a nervous throat clear. Frowning, he glanced at his cellphone.

_Dammit, he's early..._

Hurriedly, he pulled up the remainder of his fishnet stocking and snapped it to his suspenders (he'd shaved his legs earlier that day in preparation), pushing down and smoothing out the tiny black PVC miniskirt around his waist.

_Well, the guy's just gonna have to wait. I am _not_ going out there if I'm not perfect._

He wobbled on one foot as he pulled on a wickedly pointed leather boot, checking himself in the mirror. Which wasn't easy in a breath shunning corset. But he was fucked if he wasn't going out there in this gorgeous shiny, black, red lace trimmed thing. Soon, he reminded himself happily, he'd be able to fit into one of those 16 inch waist numbers, a waspie.

_Bet Tré would like a private viewing,_ he thought evilly.

Back to tonight.

Leaning close to the mirror after pulling on the other boot, Billie picked up his favourite lipstick, a sultry (Slutty? Typo?) deep shade of red, applying it expertly with two quick strokes. He pressed his lips together as he picked up the icing on the sex cake that was his outfit - a wig. Long black tresses fell upon his shoulders as he crowned himself carefully, not a hair out of place. He smiled to himself at the thought that his client hadn't called out for his dominatrix yet. Tré had instructed him well.

He adjusted his corset a little, which, with the prosthetics and tattoo covering shirt, turned him into a very convincing woman. Not that it was too hard. Finally, he pulled his three-quarter length PVC gloves taut - absolute fuckers to put on, by the way - and stepped towards the bathroom door. He opened it a crack, peering through to see where his client was standing, so he could get the fullest impact out his entrance.

Billie choked on his breath and shrank back into the bathroom, shutting the door again as quietly as possible and pinning himself to the wall.

_MIKE?!_

_Tré sent me fucking_ MIKE?!! _  
Oh my God I am going to fucking **kill him.**_

_I'm going to bend him in two until he chokes on his own cock, I'm gonna--_

Billie seethed in his thoughts for a few more moments, then simmered down.

_Ok, rationality. Mike can't know it's me, otherwise he wouldn't have come here. And he's STRAIGHT, for fuck's sake. Tré must've neglected to tell him. So. Can't freak Mike out. Can't let him know it's me._

Digging into his little backpack, he pulled out a thick piece of black lace, one he usually used for a restraint. Mildly put out that he wouldn't get to show off his favourite lipstick, he wrapped it around his face and tied it at the back, leaving only his heavily made-up eyes showing. Pausing to take a breath and remind himself not to get too distracted with the fact that he's about to dominate his best friend of over twenty years, who has no idea it's him under all that PVC and leather, Billie tugged nervously at his skirt one more time, hooking his weapon of choice over his wrist, and turned the door handle.

\---------------------------------------

Mike was looking at the window. More specifically the sliver of darkness between the almost-drawn curtains, and was torn between drawing them fully for peace of mind and total privacy, or leaving them as they were in fear of being reprimanded for doing something without instruction. He heard the bathroom door swing open, and froze, mind abruptly shutting down for a few heart-stopping moments. Then a firm but quiet voice reached his ears.

"Knees."

His mind stumbled to react, mental voices contradicting one another.

_Knees?_

_What about my knees?_

_Her knees?_

A scant few seconds of panic passed, then he flinched violently at the sharp *CRACK* noise right behind him, followed by the voice again, suddenly tight with anger.

" _Knees,_ boy. Get ON them now."

Mike practically threw himself down, suddenly quite terrified.

"Y-yes, Mistress!"

A gaping silence followed, before he heard slow footsteps - _boot_ steps - on the rough carpet, approaching him. He held his breath and kept as still as possible, eyes front. And suddenly he found himself staring at a very tight, very short PVC miniskirt. Before his eyes could roam further, he received a sharp slap to the forehead.

"Eyes down."

Stifling a yelp of part-surprise, part-fear, Mike dropped his head, eyes finding and gluing to the pointed leather boots of his Mistress.

"Jacket and shirt. Off."

As Mike hurried to obey, a dissenting voice in the back of his head said that if all that was going to happen was orders were going to be barked at him in such a militant manner, well...this was going to be a lot less sexy than he thought. Letting his jacket and t-shirt fall to the floor around him, he heard the squeak of shiny material and felt something fabric rest under his chin and push up, forcing him to look up. He cringed slightly and complied.

His gaze was met by two utterly fucking captivating hazel eyes, and suddenly the sexy was back. He opened his mouth to compliment them. 'Mistress' eyes are beautiful,' or something. But, on remembering his rules, he closed it again.

The sexy was most definitely back.

\-------------------------------------------

Billie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, being very careful not to exhibit it outwardly. Mike hadn't recognized him! And the eyes were usually a dead giveaway. Perhaps Mike was too petrified to let his usually sharp mind do the math. This was good.

He held Mike's gaze for a while longer, the end of his riding crop pressing under the bassist's chin, until he was sure he was getting uncomfortable. Then he straightened up and spoke, voice smooth.  
"Bend forward and place your palms on the floor."

Barely half a seconds pause, and Mike obeyed. Damn, he was a _good_ little pet. All scared and intimidated and totally compliant...but not like the others. The few others that Billie had, uh, ‘serviced' - and, assuredly, it was only a few - weren't quite like this. The others had known their positions well, Mike apparently didn't. Apparently he hadn't been a pet, or slave, or bitch or anything like that before. It wasn't to say he was insubordinate or anything, he just...in this environment, for once, he was pretty dumb. And submissive.

And _that_ was, well...hot.

Smiling safely under his black lace veil, his eyes settled on Mike's toned, pale back as he walked around to his side. He trailed the tip of his riding crop all the way up the ridges of his spine as he spoke, making him shiver lightly.

"So...who are you?"

"Mike...Mistress."

_CRACK!_

"AHHH!"

Mike's back snapped into an arc as Billie brought the crop down hard on the small of it, and let out a pained, outraged cry. Billie's Mistress persona rushed back to the surface.

"Wrong answer, boy." he said, voice stern but still worryingly calm. "You're nameless to me, and continue like this and you'll become worthless." he paused, seeing Mike bite his lip against a hiss of pain. Then he raised a foot, resting it on Mike's back and pushed down, making him lie down like a dog. He tapped the back of Mike's head. "Head to the floor."

\---------------------------------

Mike pressed his head to the carpet, even more uneasy now he couldn't see anything, his back still smarting. His Mistress' voice came again.

" _What_ are you?"

After a brief panic, Mike replied with what he hoped to God to be the right answer. "I-I'm your pet, Mistress...I'm yours."

He cringed a little, waiting. Nothing happened. Instead he heard footsteps slowly begin to circle around him, feeling eyes burning into every inch of him. The steps stopped directly in front of him. He jumped a little on feeling breath brush his ear suddenly.

"Good boy," the Mistress whispered. "You may stand."

_I did good! Alright!_

Mike sat up, and despite the fact his heart was still pounding, he felt like he was starting to get the hang of all this. Remembering to keep his eyes to the ground, he stood up.

\---------------------------------------

"What do you say?" the Mistress' voice came, a touch of amusement in the tone. Mike flushed, realizing.

"Thank you!" he blurted out. "Thank you, Mistress!"

A soft chuckle reached his ears, and Mike began to think that maybe this wasn't going to be so bad.

_CRACK!_

_FUCK!!_

The crop was lashed across his chest, missing his face by a few inches. He did his best not to react, but...FUCK that hurt. He tensed up and shut his eyes tight, swallowing back any curses that would no doubt get him into trouble. Through his mental tirade, he heard his Mistress speak patiently.

"A courteous pet is a pet who keeps his ass intact."

"Yes, Mistress," Mike cracked open his eyes to see pink welts rising across his chest. "Thank you for educating me, Mistress."

"I hope that isn't sass I hear..."

Mike froze. "NO, Mistress!!" he cried, desperation in his voice. _Oh my God I'm gonna get--_

"Look at me, pet."

Mike slowly raised his eyes, travelling up his Mistress' form, one hand on hip, the other holding that riding crop over a shoulder. Despite the fact he was scared for his health and well-being...

_Damn. Uh, dayum. Fucking...wow that is hot. DAMN._

_...DAMN._

He felt a pang of lust unfurl in his stomach as his eyes reached his Mistress'. Under the obscuring lace, he could see an amused smile curling the dark red lips.

\----------------------------------

Billie saw the hungry look faintly appear in Mike's eyes as he looked at him, and he smiled. It never failed to make Billie feel like preening when people looked at him like that. Even moreso now it was Mike. It was odd - he'd never really looked at his best friend as...well, as a sexual guy. Just...best friend, guy who plays bass, guy who drinks a lot of coffee. Not...God _damn_ I wanna molest you. Maybe it was this outfit. Maybe he really was a slut, as Tré had affectionately accused him of being so many times. But whatever.

_Mikey, you are getting **laid** tonight._

He pulled out of his thoughts and began taking slinky steps towards his pet Mike, placing his free hand on his bare chest and pushing him backwards as he did so. Dropping his persona momentarily, he whispered soothing words. "Relax - if you give it a chance, you'll enjoy it."

He saw Mike frown a little in confusion, and took it as a cue to maybe shut the fuck up and maybe NOT give himself away so fucking easily. He pushed Mike a little harder, and he fell back into the wall.

"Raise your hands above your head."

"Yes, Mistress..." Mike replied, obeying instantly.

Billie turned away, walking with the same slink and giving his butt a little more wiggle than was necessary, well aware of Mike's naughty eyes all over him. He reached the bathroom door and disappearing from view. He re-emerged with a thick strip of satin and a pair of black furred handcuffs, and approached Mike again, who was now staring at him curiously. Billie was about to reprimand him, when he seemed to remember himself, eyes shooting to the floor suddenly. The frontman nodded in approval, reaching for Mike's still raised hands, looping the cuffs through the wall light fitting above his head and clapping them over his wrists.

_Lucky the thing isn't turned on, else Mike could have second degree burns by the time I'm done with him._

Smirking darkly at the thought, Billie took the satin strip and wrapped it around his eyes, tying it tight at the back of his head. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, making sure Mike could see nothing, before reaching up and untying his own lace veil, casting it aside. He ducked into the bathroom again, this time emerging with a small bucket of ice. Depositing it down beside his pet, he shook his crop from his wrist to his hand, gripping it and stepping back.

\--------------------------------------

Mike did quite like the mystery of the blindfold, he decided. And begin restrained was also kinda thrilling. Instead of just standing there like an idiot, he attempted to entice his Mistress by arching languidly, head pressing against the wall behind him. A sudden thought popped into his head as he thought about that incredible outfit.

_Wait a second...that crop...Isn't that Tré's?..._

_CRACK!_

He was given no time to think further on this as he felt - and heard - the crop lash across his chest again.

"AH!!"

He arched further, this time mostly in pain.

Mostly.

His Mistress' voice reached his ears. "Tell me what you like about my body, pet."

_CRACK!_

"AHH! I...God...I...your eyes..."

"Good. What else?"

_CRACK!_

"FUCK! Legs...your legs...Mistress..."

"Mmhmm. And?"

_CRACK!!_

"UHH! Y-your ass!" Mike blurted, unable to hold it back. Well, it was true. He sagged a little. "Oh, God, your _ass_..."

There was a pause before his Mistress spoke again.

"Really? Very nice." Then the voice dropped to a hiss. " _Talk dirty to me_."

Mike took a moment to regain his breath, very fucking turned on by that last sentence.

"Fuck...Mistress, your ass, I...it's so tight and...nngh...I want you to ride me, I need you to...I need to feel you...nn..."

Mike squirmed against his restraints as he spoke, sweat starting to form on his forehead and breath puffing from his parted lips.

" _Inside you_..." he whined.

\---------------------------------------------

Billie stared at Mike, stunned.

_Holy...he **is** desperate..._

_And watching him writhe like that...fuck..._

He gritted his teeth, self-restraint having to kick in earlier than expected, and drew back the crop, bringing it down across Mike's chest harder than before. He shivered at the delicious reaction it got - the yelped moan, more writhing and shuddering, and - yes, there they were - the speckles of blood that began oozing from two crossing welts across Mike's ribs. Billie gazed at them hungrily.

_Bloodlust._

His normal persona vanished completely. He raised the crop again and cracked it across Mike's chest as hard as he could. Mike damn near screamed.

Billie's eyes glittered.

\--------------------------------------------

Sharp prickles of pain danced all over Mike's chest, making him shudder. It stung more. His mind was spreading, separating, lust crawling through his body, under his skin, clawing at the pit of his stomach. At first, he'd been uncertain about the riding crop, the dominatrix in general, but...the pain tipped into pleasure with the slightest push, mingling together beautifully.

He pressed back hard against the wall, head lolling to one side, trying to form thoughts but failing miserably.

_CRACK!_

"Ohhhh," he moaned, long and low, feeling blood begin to seep down his chest. It was all he could do to stop his knees from buckling beneath him.

His Mistress' voice reached his ears, more barbed and threatening than before. "You want to fuck me, is that right?"

"Yesss....God, yes, please, Mistress...Please, Mistress...yes..." Mike panted.

_CRACK!_

"You want to be deep inside me," His Mistress murmured breathily. "You want to feel me tighten around you, hot and wet, just for you..."

"Please," Mike whined, squirming still, erection now throbbing in his pants.

_CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!!_

Three swift, successive lashes across his chest, each more vicious than the last, and Mike was almost sobbing in frustration and pain. His Mistress spoke again, hissing in sudden rage.

"You don't _deserve_ me. You are not _worthy_ of me, boy."

"I know, I know, I know..." Mike agreed, repeatedly, as if driven insane with lust. "I'm not, I'm not worthy of you, I‘m not worthy to take you, but please, please Mistress, please...I...let me beg on my hands and knees... _I need you_ ," he finished in a whimper.

There was a gaping, heart-stopping silence for a few long moments. All Mike could hear was his own hoarse panting.

\----------------------------------------

Billie could hold himself back no longer. Mike's frantic begging was making him harden with need himself. So, he paused for a few moments, and when it looked as though his pet was about to start pleading again, Billie stepped forward and crushing his lips against Mike's. Roughly taking hold of a fistful of his peroxide blonde hair, holding him still, Billie forced his lips apart, tongue plunging in and gaining instant dominance. It was a brutal kiss, one that made Mike's legs almost give way. Billie kissed him like he was trying to swallow the back of his head. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, Billie broke away, leaving Mike to gasp for breath and regain his footing. As the bassist reeled, Billie took a breath himself, before dipping his hand into the bucket of ice, picking out a cube and pressing it against Mike's chest. He gasped at the sudden freezing sensation, one that dramatically eased the raw burning of the bleeding welts criss-crossing all over him.

Billie eased the one cube across Mike's chest, following the raised, pink marks one by one until the cube had melted away. He remained silent, drinking in his pet's reaction, watching his back arch languidly and hearing the panted moans escape from his lips. Also, when breath allowed him, Mike was thanking his Mistress profusely for soothing his wounds. Billie hushed him, then said in the most level, smooth voice –

"You are not worthy, pet. You are not good enough for me to give you such a prize. But I'm also not going to let you leave here without having had the greatest sex of your pathetic life." He moved closer, false breasts pressing up against Mike's sore chest, breath ghosting over his ear. "Which is why _I_ am going to fuck _you_."

Before Mike could fully comprehend what had just been said to him, he felt two more ice cubes press and drag over his chest, circling his nipples and trailing cold, swirling little patterns in their wake. He moaned again, shivering slightly. Billie growled inwardly.

_God, I just wanna bend you over the bed and fuck you into next year..._

Fighting against this animal instinct, Billie discarded one of the ice cubes, slipping the other into his mouth and moving in to claim Mike's lips again. Mike whined as the cube was pushed into his mouth. His enforced blindness just made the sensation more intense, tongues sliding and pushing the cube between each other, numbing, caressing, lubricating. The kiss lasted, soft moans rising from both parties, until there was nothing left of the ice - and longer still. It seemed as though Mike's Mistress had forgotten herself...

Billie pressed himself against his pet, gloved hands raising and sliding down Mike's raised arms as he continued to kiss him. Angling his leg so his thigh rubbed insistently against the bassist's groin. Breaking away to lick at his bottom lip and murmur breathily, "You like that?"

Mike pressed back, straining against his bonds, blindly dipping his head to search for his Mistress' lips. He gave no reply, only whining needily again. A sudden void sucked the intensity from the atmosphere as his Mistress stepped back. Desperation ran away with Mike's mind.

"Want you...now..." he pleaded, frustrated anger creeping into his voice.

A second of silence passed before _SMACK!_ Mike damn near shrieked in pain and surprise as a PVC wrapped hand delivered a vicious slap to his face, making his ears ring. He staggered to the side, face throbbing, and was given no time to apologize or even curse, as the same hand clamped tightly around his face, holding him still. The strength of the grip was incredible for a woman, and the threatening hiss in that previously velvet voice was terrifying.

"How _dare_ you!" the free hand dragged curled fingers down Mike's chest, prising open the stinging welts, making him yelp, panicked. "'I want' doesn't get, don't you know anything?! You are _beneath_ me, what you want means _nothing_ to me. You will get what I give you, clear, _pet_?" The last word was spat with as much contempt as could be mustered.  
Mike reeled in utter panic, freezing in his Mistress' grip.

"Yes! Yes! Crystal clear, Mistress, oh my God, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry--!" he blurted hoarsely. His apologies dissolved into a tearful moan as he felt more welts splitting open under PVC claws. "Please, please, do what you want with me, Mistress...please..."

The sudden rage that had consumed Billie vanished at those few words.

_Do what you want with me._

He'd been planning to do that anyway, but actually hearing those words spill from Mike's mouth was...God.

Billie's eyes narrowed, lust clutching at the pit of his stomach, and he let go of Mike's face.

"Back against the wall, pet." he murmured. "And if you move an inch, this is going to be the longest night of your life - not in a good way."

Mike instantly pinned himself back, getting as much of himself pressed hard against the wall, whimpering his compliance. He winced inwardly, knowing he was in for more of a thrashing and not entirely sure if he could take the torment much longer. His breath emerged in shuddering pants as he waited. What he received, though, was far from what he expected.

Billie bent down, dragging his tongue along the swirling streaks of red over Mike's chest, licking up every drop of blood and water, pausing to nibble and suck lightly at either nipple. His hands descended to tug at the fly of Mike's pants.

And Mike himself was choking back innumerable, thick moans, toes curling and desperately trying to keep still and not arch into the touch of _that_ mouth. Beads of sweat began to dampen his forehead as he felt hands swiftly free him of his pants and boxers. This was going to be a _lot_ fucking harder than he thought.

Billie dropped to his knees, tongue tracing over the happy trail before him, before he moved back and took in the sight of Mike's hardened cock in front of his face. He felt heat throb through him just looking at it. His eyes raised to Mike's obscured eyes before he raised a gloved hand and wrapped it around the base.

"Remember," he warned, unable to keep the slight tremble from his voice. "Not one false move."

Then he flicked out his tongue, teasing at the moistened slit, before dropping his lips and suckling at the head. He heard Mike splutter and cry out, if anything pressing back harder against the wall in a remarkable show of self-restraint. Thumb rubbing at the base, Billie swirled his tongue around the head, sweeping it along underside and moaning as he slowly swallowed his pet down.

Mike, inwardly, was writhing like an octopus on deck. He could only stand there in some self-enforced rigor mortis as his erection was enveloped by this wet, hot, divine mouth. He could only imagine the sight of the black, tousled head bobbing up and down at his waist, red lips wrapped firmly around his cock. He could only whimper, whine and yelp and not move a fucking muscle.

It was a scant few minutes before Billie began wondering, for the first time ever with a client, how long he could last. Mike didn't need to move and buck up into his mouth - just the _sounds_ he was making was enough to wash his self control away. And, from the way it now sounded that Mike was damn near sobbing in desperation, the feeling was mutual...

_Mike is straight. And I am going to fuck him._

Billie shivered at the thought, hungrily taking the rest of Mike into his mouth and eliciting another yelp followed by a husky moan.

"F-fuck, God," Mike gasped, feeling his toes slowly cramp from curling so damn hard. He was so close to just shooting his load then and there, but the perversely intriguing promise of being fucked was just enough to hang on to his self-control by the smallest of threads.

Suddenly, there was a smacking noise as his Mistress pulled away. Mike sagged, heart pounding, gasping for breath. After a few seconds of silence, he heard his Mistress' voice, now a slightly unsteady murmur. "Turn around and spread you legs."

Mike obeyed, heart suddenly thundering.

_Is this it? Is she going to..._

He froze as he felt a fingertip trace down his back, the sensation disappearing before—

"AHH!!" he cried, head thrown back as the finger was suddenly pushed into him.

_OhmyGodwhattheFUCK-_

_Oh...my God..._

Before Mike knew it, he was rocking back wantonly onto two lubed fingers as they invaded him.

It didn't matter that he was standing there naked, blindfolded and handcuffed to a light fitting. It didn't matter that the person doing this to him was some kind of dominatrix prostitute he'd never met before.

All that mattered was that there was something deep inside him, something he was barely even aware was there, something his Mistress had found and was now rubbing two - wait -AH - _three_ fingertips over it. Something that felt like Christmases and birthdays and hotel wreckings and riots and...

Mike let his forehead rest against the wall, feeling his whole body throb as he arched his back and clenched around the fingers sending him to heaven.

As his coherent mind utterly disintegrated, Mike wasn't even aware that his Mistress had unlocked his cuffs until his aching arms were eased down, fingers withdrawing from him. He lay his hands against the wall, supporting his weak body, before light flooded his vision as the blindfold was removed. His wrist was grasped and he was pulled away, dragged stumbling towards the bed and practically thrown onto it, feet resting on the floor.

Billie stood over his pet, looking down at him, his own breath now coming in shallow pants. "I said I was going to fuck you," he asserted. "And that is what I am going to do, regardless of how you react to what I do next, right...Mike?"

Mike's heavy-lidded eyes came to almost focus on him, vague confusion in them. Billie steeled himself.

_Do it, just do it._

_You want him to know it's you now, don't you?_

_Well there's only one way to do that._

Billie swallowed, tilting his head defiantly up, and took hold of his wig, pulling it off to reveal the black dyed, slightly curly shock of hair beneath. He stood there, boots, fishnets, suspenders, miniskirt, corset, fake boobs, PVC gloves, black shirt, painted eyes, ruined lipstick...and wigless, in all his glory.

The wig dropped to the floor.

Mike's eyes cleared a little, widening. He looked like he was trying to mouth Billie's name, but a sex addled mind doesn't make good for eloquence. If breathing was hard before, it was almost fucking _impossible_ now.

Billie took hold of Mike's legs and dragged him until his ass sat at the edge of the bed, then pushed them apart. He stepped closer, tugged up his miniskirt and coated himself with the remainder of the lubricant on his gloves. He then pulled Mike's ass up towards him and impaled him, eliciting an unearthly shriek from the helpless pet.

Neither of them lasted long after that.

Billie's hips bucked sharply, harshly, falling into a desperately fast rhythm. Burying himself deep in Mike's virginally tight ass, gloved hands clawing at his sides, shuddering moans rolling from his throat and passing red smudged lips. Mike's head pressed back hard into the bed beneath him, mouth open wide in a silent cry, vision dissipating and consciousness floating to the ceiling. Utterly overcome by the entirely new sensation of a hard cock driving into his ass and stimulating a spot inside him like he never thought possible. The entirely new sensation of being fucked.

Of being fucked by Billie.

And hearing his bandmate - his Mistress - shrieking at the top of his lungs as he slammed home one more time, orgasm exploding through the pit of his stomach, spilling himself deep inside his pet.  
Mike came hard. He barely found the breath to scream.

\-------------------------------------------

After a few minutes of nothing but laboured breath and shimmering consciousness, Mike suddenly felt movement, before something wet pressed against his stomach. He cracked open his eyes to see his Mistress dragging his tongue over his torso, eagerly lapping up the spatters of come decorating him. Mike groaned softly at such a mind-blowing sight.

Then his Mistress was above him, on hands and knees, looking down at him though heavy-lidded eyes. A sheen of sweat glinted on his face. He bent down and nipped at Mike's throat, murmuring against his damp skin. "Time's up, pet. Clean yourself up - your ride's waiting."

He sloped off his pet's body. Mike raised his head to watch his Mistress walk away, towards the bathroom, hips swinging with that same slink, discarded wig held in a PVC wrapped hand. The door closed behind him.

After a moment or two, Mike sat up, feeling his chest throb dully.

"Wow." he breathed. Then he reached for the tissues sat on the bedside table and set about making himself somewhat presentable.

\---------------------------------------------

Tré drummed his fingers at a manic speed on the steering wheel, bobbing his head to some song in his mental jukebox. He looked up on hearing the door in front of the car open. His blue eyes lit up and he grinned on seeing an exhausted, mildly dishevelled looking bassist close the door behind him.

"So?" Tré asked innocently.

Mike strolled up to the car, opening the door and flopping into his seat. Tré watched him expectantly as he let his head drop to the headrest behind him, eyes hazy as they looked sideways at the drummer.

"I am going to fucking murder you." he muttered. Then he smirked.

Tré just laughed.


End file.
